“Are you kidding me? I told him I was going to put a fucking bullet in his brain. I left him probably ten voicemails before he texted back and said that Lara had come to him right after Labor Day, all secret or whatever, she went to his office and then she went to meet him at some bar downtown so he could tell her all about Gabrielle and the affair.” Shit. My mouth straightened into a line as I watched Jackson’s lip curl. I wasn’t sure what he was going to do or say next. My eyebrows lifted when he laughed like a maniac. “I mean is that scumbag shit for real? He’s worse than Sawyer when it comes to going after Lara. I don’t give a shit what he says.”
“You don’t believe him?”
“I don’t believe the fucker that she doesn’t love me,” Jackson snarled, spit flying. “If Lara went to Dane to squeeze out whatever information he had about Gabrielle, it’s kind of fucking proof that every move I make tears her up inside. Of course she fucking loves me, that stupid son of a bitch.” His shoulders heaved as he breathed loudly. “I just need to find her now. I think I might’ve screwed up one too many times now.” You think? I had to hold in a bitter laugh as I watched Jackson thrust both hands into his hair, shaking his head like a menace. “I fucking swear to Christ, man. I swear to Christ if she tries to fucking leave me...”
As I glared, watching Jackson’s hysteria, I thanked God that Lara was safe in my house, wrapped in a blanket on my couch with a book and a full French press. Because Jackson was gone. Any shred of the Jackson I’d grown up with had melted away with this madness. He was crying now, tearing at his hair, shaking his head and muttering a mile a minute about how much he fucking loved her.
“She should’ve called. She should’ve at least fucking called. It’s like she wants this. She wants me to lose my fucking mind.”
“Jackson.” I went to pour him a glass of water. “She ha
s no phone and she was attacked last night by Dane fucking McNulty. She’s probably rattled so don’t make this about you. She probably doesn’t even think you’re up yet.”
Just a few logical points and Jackson calmed right down, going from sixty to zero or at least twenty as he drank the water. He was definitely out of it.
“Look, she’s going to turn up eventually. It’s Lara. She’s not the spontaneous type and she hates inconveniencing people. Right now, she’s probably just scared because the last time she was home, you weren’t awake to protect her from Dane. But once she’s sure he’s gone, she’ll come back. I’m sure of it,” I said, casually checking my phone. “Still no runs in the eighth, by the way,” I said, pretending to check scores when I was really texting Lara. He’s going insane right now. Worried about you. Talking him down. Will cue you soon.
Jackson sniffled like a kid. “What?”
“Yankees-Rangers. Scoreless in the eighth inning.”
“Damn.”
That was easy. “Wanna watch?”
All it took was two beers and the game on the flat screen for Jackson to start sounding like himself again. “I’m sorry, man, I’m just…” He shook his head at himself as the Yanks went into the ninth. “I don’t know who I can trust anymore. Dane’s a piece of shit, Sawyer’s a rat and I have to censor myself around Caleb now that he’s engaged to that fucking princess. It just feels like the walls are closing in on me. Everyone’s turning into someone else. So I can’t fucking lose Lara, man. She’s my constant. I’m fucking nothing without her.”
“Then treat her better,” I said, immediately wondering why the hell I did. It didn’t matter if Jackson treated her better at this point. And the point of my visit was to get onto more deviant topics, like his sex tape with Gabrielle. The plan was still for me to see if he still had that other phone.
“You’re right,” Jackson nodded, looking into his hands. At that point, I texted Lara her cue.
Okay. Go check in now.
She didn’t reply but within forty-five minutes, her name lit on Jackson’s phone. He jumped out of his seat. “Holy shit,” he murmured, opening the text.
“What is it?” I asked, despite knowing well what the picture and the message would be.
“Oh my God,” he exhaled, laughing as he smacked a hand to his forehead. “She’s at that place. This little boutique hotel that she goes to with Sloane sometimes. They have an all-women’s spa or some shit,” he muttered hastily before reading the text. “’Awake yet, babe? Not sure if we should try to call the police but Dane went insane last night while you were asleep and I’m sure there’s security footage from the elevators. Please don’t do anything irrational yet, we need to take care of this with the authorities. I didn’t know where to go in the meantime so I checked in here. About to go for a massage. Need to calm my nerves. Won’t have my phone but text me when you get this so I know I can come home.’”
Exactly as we planned it. I watched as Jackson let out the longest groan before collapsing back onto the couch.
“Holy shit!” he laughed, leaning his head back before snapping it up to look at me. “Dude. She’s fine. She’s fucking going for a massage. Thank Christ.” He shook his head like a dog shaking off water. “Hey. If she’s pampering herself right now we deserve to go for drinks, right?” He clapped his hand together and sprung to his seat. Fucking Jekyll and Hyde. “How ‘bout we go to Muse Room in the Lower East Side? That’s where Lara met Dane but I hear they’ve got girls walking around half naked over there. You down?”
I stared at my brother. What the fuck kind of transformation did I just watch? As Jackson went to grab his jacket, I wondered how often he fell into these dark places where he shook and cursed and muttered like man you couldn’t talk down from the ledge. Not long ago, he basically promised to make Lara sorry if she ever tried to leave. Now, he was grinning and talking about which lounge in the city had the hottest waitresses.
“Wait, you don’t want to see who wins the game?” I asked. I was trying to keep us at the apartment. If the phone still existed, it was hidden somewhere in the duplex, and there was no getting to it at some bar in the LES.
“Fuck the game. A walk-off homer isn’t going to take the edge off of my shit right now, I need a fucking drink.”
“Didn’t you have enough last night?”
Jackson stopped in the middle of putting on his coat, a smile still frozen on his face. “You really wanna be a little bitch to me right now?” he asked in that voice that was only half-kidding at best.
I heaved a sigh. Then again, maybe getting him drunk around half-naked women was the right step toward watching the Gabrielle video.
“Alright.” I clapped my hands together and got up from the couch. “Let’s go, fucker.”
Chapter Twenty